


Crickets Sing For Anamaria

by astrothsknot



Series: Imitating Angels [9]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Actually a story, Dean and Sam with kids, F/M, Gen, OFC - Freeform, OMCs - Freeform, Porn With Plot, Possessive Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrothsknot/pseuds/astrothsknot





	Crickets Sing For Anamaria

Title: Crickets Sing For Anamaria   
Author: Astrothsknot  
Fandom: Supernatural/Buffy  
Series: Imitating Angels AU  
Rating: NC17 Violence, language and sex  
Characters: Dean, Sam/Lily (OFC), (OMCs) Skipper Jean LaSalle, Crewman Mark Rivers, mention of Faith   
Disclaimer: I don’t own a TV show.  
A/N Gigglingkat’s prompt: Dean and Lily hunt something - no sex, cause ... um. no. - but Sam's possessive because PossessiveSammy was very, very good.... Roy Dupuis and Taylor Kitsch are the models for OMCs. Beta by Missyjack  
Summary: Everyone knows you don’t change the name of a boat.

“Yeah, just want to check on the pots for tomorrow. We’ll just be five minutes.” Skipper Jean LaSalle finishes his glass before getting up. He has a good natured stare-off with Mark Rivers, before the latter cuffs one of the other men at the table.

“Why me?” He whines, jokily.

“Cos you’re new and I’ve not finished my beer.” Mark swigs from his glass, pointedly. “And nothing gets in the way of my beer.”

There’s a moment when one of the waitresses wanders passed and winks at the men. Mark grins. “OK, she can get in the way of my beer.”

Skipper Jean groans. “I like drinking here. Fuck that up and you’ll be diving without tanks.”

Mark gives a salute. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

“Beautiful night,” says the crewman, David. They’re walking out along the quayside, not hurrying. There’s no rush. The moored fishing and pleasure craft are floating gently on the small waves that slap against the harbour walls.

“Yeah,” agrees Skipper Jean. “I love when you just hear the water like that. It’s so peaceful.”

He scans out until he can see his own boat, _Anamaria_. She’s not the best boat bobbing in the swell, but she’s _his._ He runs his eye over her lines, the lobster pots ready for tomorrow, the lights of the town reflecting in the glass of the wheelhouse, the man crouching at the stern, scrabbling frantically for something among the bait barrels

“Hey! Get off my boat!” Skipper Jean yells, oblivious to the gentle splash as he hurries towards the _Anamaria_. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The figure doesn‘t even look up. Skipper Jean looks behind him, but David is nowhere to be seen. 

David’s body washes up six weeks later.

*** 

_“Fuck! Yeah…there…”_

Sam writhes as Lily kisses her way down his body, dragging her tongue over the ridges of his stomach till she reaches his dick. His hands are buried in her hair, holding it back so he can watch her, eyes dark and hungry.

_“Jesus, Lily…please…I need you to…”_

A shiver runs through him as Lily finally takes his cock in her mouth, tonguing the slit, nimble fingers playing along the base. Sam’s pulling on her hair slightly as her teeth gently catch on the glans, hips making little involuntary jerks when she flutters her tongue against the underside.

A sobbing cry starts up along the hall and even though Dean walks softly to his son’s room, it’s enough to break the mood. 

“Lily, I can’t. I’m sorry. He’ll start off Jelly in a minute,” Sam says, reaching to pull her close, but she rolls away onto her back, batting away his hand. 

Lily’s turned her face away from Sam so she can’t see the stung look on his as he goes across to the crib in the corner of the room. They can hear Dean talking softly to Ricky as Sam picks up his baby daughter. It’s boiling in the room and Jessica is sleeping just in a little tunic. 

“Hey, sweetheart, your noisy cousin wake you up?” Sam croons to the infant, sitting back down on the bed. He‘s holding her to his shoulder as she looks around, eyes wide with wonder. Sam grins with her. “She’s trying to hold her head up, Mommy. Yes, you are. What do you see? See the dream catcher?”

The chimes of the dream catcher over the window clink gently as Sam takes Jessica over to it. 

“That her or you?” Lily asks, sharply, turning towards them.

“It’s just the wind. The curtains are moving as well, look.” Sam nods towards them. Jelly is sucking on Sam‘s shoulder. “Where’s her bottle?”

“On the shelf. It should be cool enough now.” Lily sits up, holds out her arms. 

“Naw, we’re fine. You get some sleep,” he replies as he sits down on the bed with his daughter. It should be a beautiful picture, the man with the body of a Greek God and the serenity of Buddha sitting cross-legged and naked on the bed with the small baby, so fragile in his strong arms as he feeds her.

Sam doesn’t notice as Lily turns over, her back to him, hot angry tears in her eyes.

***

“You’re right, it’s doing it again.” The radar expert crinkles his forehead. “Ninth time this month. Seriously, Skipper Jean, sell or scrap this bucket. It’s fucking haunted or something. My cousin knows someone who‘ll do it cheap.”

“Bullshit, Tony. Just fix the damn radar. I’m late for getting out and I’ll miss the market if I don’t get my pots back in.” Skipper Jean scowls at the other man. “There’s no such things as ghosts. Just faulty fucking mechanics.”

“Yeah, everyone is out to get you. You never wonder why you got Joy’s Angel so cheap?” Tony adjusts some wiring and looks at the meter. He shivers and wrinkles his nose. “You can’t smell that? It’s like rotten eggs.”

“Then it must be coming from the quayside,” asserts Skipper Jean. “Will the insurance cover this again?”

“This time, yeah, but any more and you’ll have to take a season ticket with us or something. Otherwise this pile of shit will have you bankrupt.” Tony gets up and packs away his kit. “Or dead.”

“See you soon, Tony.” Skipper Jean escorts Tony off the boat. 

“You’ll see me sooner if that radar reverses again. She’s cursed.”

“Bye, Tony.” Skipper Jean watches him walk to his car, then pats the boat. A faint _J-Y-A_ is visible under _Anamaria._

***

Lily wakes up the way she does most mornings - shoved up against the wall because Sam is taking up the middle of the bed, hand curled around Jessica’s arm as she sleeps on the mattress. The baby spends so much time in their bed, that Sam has ditched the pillows, just in case they smother her. 

She sits up carefully, as her door slides back and Faith slips in. “I wish I could move like that when I was pregnant.” 

“Well, you’re not a Slayer. Aw, they look so sweet.” Faith sits down carefully on the end of the bed, rubbing her lower back.

Lily doesn’t even look at them. “I guess.”

“You OK?” 

She shrugs. “I’m fine. I’ll go and get today’s bottles ready.”

“They’re in the steamer, won’t be ready for another half-hour. You’ve got time for breakfast.” Faith looks at her, considering. “You sure you’re OK? Ricky’s not keeping you awake when he starts?”

“Faith, Ricky can’t help having nightmares. Speaking of which, are the boys back yet?” Lily looks over for the clock. “Damn, I forgot Sam moved it because he was worried about the electricity affecting her.”

“It’s five fifteen.” She’s still rubbing at her back.

Lily looks at Faith. “Dean’s still out with Ricky and your back’s killing you.”

Faith smiles, a little shame-faced. “Yeah. Would you?”

Lily’s strong fingers knead Faith’s back and she groans. “I could have done with you when I got cramp at three am.”

“Should have come in. I wasn’t doing anything else,” Lily says bitterly. “I’m never doing anything else these days.”

“I think it’s great that Sam does so much with her. He doesn’t let you lift a finger. I’m not seeing how that’s a problem.” Faith twists round to look at Lily. “Specially when you go back to work.”

Lily looks like she wants to say something, but doesn’t. Faith looks over to Sam, chest exposed now the sheet’s slipped down to his waist. 

“He’s not wearing anything under that, is he?” Faith has a predatory grin dancing along her lips.

“No, actually,” Lily says as she lifts up the corner of the sheet. “Want a sneaky peak?”

***

“Tony? That guy you said your cousin knew?” 

“Christ, Skipper! It’s four am!” Tony’s not amused, but he knows that the Skipper wouldn’t call lest it was urgent. “What happened? You OK?”

“Yeah, yeah, the radar did it again and we wandered out into the shipping lanes. Then the engine cut out and I can’t see anything wrong with it.” He sighs. “The two new guys quit as soon as we got back to port. Didn’t even bother to take their kit. Or their wages.”

“Look, if you wanna scrap her -”

“I’m not letting a boat get the better of me, Tony.” Skipper Jean is firm. “So it had better be an exorcist your cousin knows.”

***

“Can I wash Jellica’s hair, Sam? Please?” Ricky begs. “I’m practicing for when I’m a big brother.”

“Well, seeing as you’re already in the bath, I think that’s a great idea,” says Sam, handing Ricky a sponge. “Just run it gently over her head.”

“She hasn’t got much hair to wash,” points out Ricky. “I’ll do her face?”

“Let me rinse the sponge out,” he replies as he squeezes the water out the sponge. “Just wipe her face. Be gentle.”

Ricky wipes Jessica’s face as if he was restoring an ancient artefact. “Like this?”

“Like that. I think you’ll make an awesome brother.” Sam nods approvingly. “What do you want? Brother or sister?”

“I want a sister,” Ricky replies, definite. “Daddy says little brothers are a pain in the ass and that doesn’t sound fun.”

“No, it sure doesn’t,” Lily says, coming in the door. Her voice is tight and she’s scowling. “I thought you were going to wait until I got back before she was bathed? I was supposed to do it.”

“Ricky’s getting tired and he wanted to help, so I had to do them both now,” Sam explains. He looks at her, concerned. “Are you OK?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She snaps. “I’ll go and get her bottle on. Do I have to make an appointment to feed her?”

Lily storms out, slamming the door so hard, it slides back open.

“What’s wrong with Lily?” Ricky asks as the phone trills in the background. Sam can hear Dean answer, _Hey, Ellen. How’s it going?_

“Sometimes when a lady has a baby, she can be…” Sam searches for the words. “It all gets too much for her and that can make her sad.”

Ricky nods. “So if you help her with the baby, she won’t be sad?”

“Something like that,” agrees Sam. It sounds like Ellen‘s trying to put a case their way, but Dean doesn‘t seem to be biting, _It’s not great timing. Lily’s just had a baby and Faith’s only got another few moths to go._ “But I love taking care of Jessica, just like your Daddy loves taking care of you.”

“I like taking care of Jellica too!” Ricky wants to make that known. “I’ll have two babies to take care of soon.”

“They’re gonna _what?”_ Dean’s slid the bathroom door open. “Ellen’s got a job for us. And they’ll even pay us - $2000!”

“Christ, that’ll be a first,” agrees Sam, keeping an eye on Ricky as he washes “Jellica’s” tummy while chanting Teletubbies lines at her. “I don’t want to turn down that kind of money…”

Dean’s already there. “I was actually going to ask Lily. Your head‘s all full of Teletubbies and crappy diapers.”

Sam laughs, startling Jessica. “Yeah. I think it’s just what she needs right now.”

***

“No, I always preferred the alternative lyrics. I thought the video they made to the original version didn’t suit it at all.” Lily changes the tape as it comes to an end. “Shannon Hoon on his other songs had a voice like Axl Rose - screechy. That’s the only song they actually sounded alright on.”

“I always wondered who he was fucking on _My World,_ ” Dean checks the road signs. “Dark Hollow’s another 30 miles. The Scream. Now _they_ were an underrated band. You‘ve got that? I‘m sure I saw that in there.”

“It’s underneath XC-NN. I had such a massive thing for Slash. And Rachel Bolan. Skid Row were the best band in the world at the time. It was a pity that the grunge scene came along, because they wrote much the same stuff.” Lily goes back to rooting through her tapes and Dean’s. “The Nymphs were a totally underrated band. They could have conquered the world if she hadn’t been a junkie.”

“And Hole are better than Nirvana. Can we change the subject, please?” Dean puts his foot down. “I know you were lucky enough to see most of these bands first time round, but can we please just - Morbid Angel? _Deicide?_ You sure you were never a Satanist?”

“I loved my death metal. I have fond memories of rituals, guys and hot, sweaty hotel rooms.” Lily pulls Use Your Illusion 1 out the deck and puts in _Blessed Are The Sick_. “Now, _that_ is drivin’ music.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably as _Fall From Grace_ blares out his speakers. “I wouldn’t call that driving music, but it’s got a certain ring to it. How the hell do you understand what they’re saying? Lifetime of reading dead languages?”

“That…and the lyric sheet.” She turns it up. “Chill, Dean. Nothing on here that will summon anything nasty.” 

“You hope.” Dean’s itching to turn the music down. “I liked it better when driver picked the music, shotgun didn‘t threaten to raise demon N‘Sync fans.”

“I could do New Kids On The Block if you preferred.” Lily roots through the box again.

“God, no! Morbid Angel’s fine. At least it’s got guitars in it.”

***

“Jean La Salle?” Dean asks, polite, but cautious. He’s already been to the bar, got himself and Lily some beers. “Dean Winchester, Lily Scott.”

“Yeah, Tony says you just might know something about our problem with the _Anamaria,_ ” says Skipper Jean as he sips his beer. He glances at Mark, who can’t keep his eyes off Lily. “I thought it was going to be two guys. I‘m Skipper Jean.”

“Well, it would have been, but we take it in turns,” replies Lily. She‘s noticed Mark and she can‘t help it as she drops her tone and tilts her chin, part challenge, part coquette. 

“And it was your turn? Lucky for us, then.” Mark’s tone is light, teasing, but nobody can mistake what’s underneath it. 

Skipper Jean rolls his eyes. “Mark, stop hitting on the help. You’ll get me sued. Wait until after they‘ve fixed the problem.” 

“We don’t have a fucking problem, only superstitious assholes. It’s the twenty-first century, we find the fish with sonar and still we got guys coming on board who tie knots in string.” Mark shakes his head. “No one will crew with us any more. We’re too spooky for them.” He makes a little ghostie gesture with his fingers. “Least you look like you’ll manage a days’ work on a fishing smack.”

“Always a plus,” grins Dean. “You want to tell us what we can do for you?”

“Well I can get you another drink for starters and give that waitress who’s been hovering ever since you came in something to do,” Skipper Jean chuckles as he beckons her over. “Want something to eat as well? Seafood platter’s legendary. On me.”

“Damn incomers, stealing our women,” Mark mock-grumbles when the waitress can’t keep her eyes off Dean. For his part, Dean winks at her and blatantly checks out her ass as she goes to the bar. She pays him back with her most come-fuck-me smile and her phone number.

“You’re just jealous cause you can’t handle the competition.” Lily’s got her own come-hither tone in her voice. 

“Oh, I’ve handled the competition more than once. You?” Mark leans towards her, can’t take his eyes off her.

“I don’t have any competition,” Lily replies, provocatively. “No one would dare.”

“Whoa! Whoa!” Dean snaps his fingers between them, breaking whatever moment was forming between them. “We got work to do. Skipper Jean, if you don’t mind?”

Skipper Jean pushes a file towards Dean. “My radar guy thinks my boat is cursed. Nothing ever works and when you get people to look at it, there’s nothing wrong. There’s a smell of rotting eggs. The galley and cabin are freezing - and you’ve seen what the weather’s like.”

“It’s boiling,” agrees Dean.

“I’ve seen a fisherman standing on the deck -”

“Christ, Skipper, get to the good bits,” cuts in Mark. He counts off the incidents with stabs of his fork. “When he saw the guy on deck, the guy Skipper Jean was with fell into the harbour and drowned. The guy who had the boat before us? His wife was blinded by a flare gun that went off when she was on board. And the guys who built the boat? Father and his two sons, good fishing stock, boys got pulled overboard in the nets, father hung himself on the crane.”

“Boat was called _Joy’s Angel_ when it was built. It got renamed Anamaria by the guy whose wife was blinded. I think it was her name.” Skipper Jean finishes off his beer.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to change the name of a boat?” Dean forks some more calamari rings into his mouth. “Shit, this _is_ good.”

“All caught locally. Christ, I sound like a tourist brochure,” Mark smiles, a little abashed. “Yeah, that’s the theory.”

“More than a few boats have changed their names. Francis Drake changed his boat’s name and so did the boat that Darwin was on. Nothing awful happened to them.” Lily’s pushing the food around her plate. 

“It’s dead, Lily. Won’t bite you,” Dean says through a full mouth. “You’re really missing out.”

“You’re not allergic are you?” Asks Skipper Jean. “I’m sorry, I should have thought.”

“No, it’s not that…I’ve never had seafood before,” Lily finally admits. “I’ve had proper fish before, but not ones that used to live in a shell or have legs.”

_“What?!”_ Mark exclaims indignantly. “I’m not getting in a boat with someone who won’t eat what keeps us in whisky and cigarettes.” He takes Lily’s fork out her hand and catches up something that looks like it should be on the set of _Alien._ “Open up.”

Lily gives him a _bitch, please_ look, still clearly reluctant to put the strange food in her mouth. 

Mark begins making boat horn noises, circling the fork in the air. “Beep! Beep! Boat’s coming into port! Open the port!”

Dean and Skipper Jean look on, laughing. Lily looks between them and Mark before she sighs and grabs Mark’s hand, shoving the laden fork into her mouth and chewing. She’s still got Mark’s hand as she swallows.

“What do you think?” Mark asks. “Good, huh?”

She looks thoughtful. “It tastes like fried wasps.”

***

“God, what time is it?” Asks Dean, stretching and yawning. “I swear I used to be better at late nights than this.”

“About 1,” replies Mark. “Age is catching up with you.”

Dean snorts and stands up to go. “No, it’s _kids_ catching up with me. I gotta get some sleep. Coming, Lily?”

Mark catches Lily’s eye. “Nah, I’m fine here. You go.”

“We had a really long drive to get here and we’re both shattered,” Dean replies lightly, but pointedly. “ _Both_ of us really could use a decent nights’ sleep.”

Lily sighs and stands up. “True. Sleeping in the car’s not ideal.”

“Be on the quayside at 9, show you round the boat then and you can do whatever it is you folks do,” says the Skipper.

They shake hands and then Dean and Lily head off to their room. 

She’s asleep within seconds when Dean’s cell rings, doesn’t even stir. “Hey, Sam. How’s it going your end?”

“It’s all go here. Your son’s decided to take all the handles off the kitchen units because he wants to do some DIY, then he forgot where he put all the goddamn screws. It’s taken Duncan and me till now -” Sam sounds exasperated and Dean can just picture his face as he reads off the insanity that‘s business as usual at the Winchester cabin. There‘s the sound of Ricky‘s voice in the background and Sam must have taken the phone away from his mouth because his voice sounds different. _“Ricky, go check the saltline in the rooms for me, sweetie. Well, check Momma’s room quietly. No, she won’t mind if sleep in her bed so you can cuddle the bump._ He wants to talk to you. Ask him what he did with the pliers.”

Dean hears his son’s high-pitched voice. “Daddy? Have you found the Boat Ghost yet?”

“No, Champ, we’ll see it tomorrow. What’s this about handles?” Dean smiles.

“One was loose and I tightied it and then I tightied them all, because you always check everything. I’m all growed up an’ I used your tools, even the birds,” Ricky says, clearly proud of himself. “I’m goin abed now, cos Momma doesn’t have you to cuddle the Bump, so I’ll cuddle it. Night, Daddy. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Son.” Dean hopes the child doesn’t pick up on the catch in his voice. “Where’s the birds? “ 

“They’re sleeping in their nest, Daddy. They’ve been working all day. “Ricky’s voice has gone quiet, as if he doesn’t want to disturb the sleeping pliers.

“Put Sam back on.” Dean can hear the phone being passed back over. “The pliers are in Ricky’s sock drawer. How’s everything else?”

“Faith’s ok, just really tired. Jelly’s missing her Mommy. She didn’t sleep at all last night, kept looking for her in bed and crying.” Sam takes a breath. “How’s she been?”

Dean pauses while he fishes for a believable lie. “I think this job’s going to be good for her. Change of scene, y’know?”

“She’s had a few, I take it? Good. She needs to cut lose a little.” Sam sounds pleased. “She’s been really down since Jessica was born.” There’s a wail in the distance and Sam groans. “Great, she’s off again. Chipmunk must have farted in the woods or something. I gotta go. I’ll try and call tomorrow at a better time.”

Sam hangs up before Dean can say goodbye. Dean looks up and mouths a silent apology to whatever deity happens to be listening.

***

“Jesus. I see what you mean about the cold.” Lily shivers. She’s turned off the sound on the EMF meter. It won’t stop and the constant flash of the red lights is more than telling. She can’t stop scratching.

“Are you sure you’re not allergic to shell fish?” Skipper Jean asks. “You’re red raw.”

“Naw, it’s all the spook stuff going on here. I can pick that up. Dean?” This last is yelled.

“What?” Comes the muffled reply from the engine room.

“How’s it going down there?”

“Spook Central. Maybe they wanted a cruise.” There’s a thump and a bang from underneath the deck. Skipper Jean looks pained.

“Dean would never hurt an engine,” grins Lily.

“Right, you two, out of there. We have pots to pick up and get to our hotels.” The Skipper waits on Mark and Dean reappearing before turning the keys in the engine and the propeller starts turning in the water.

“So,” asks Skipper Jean. “What’s your professional opinion?”

“You got something wrong, but I don’t know what.” Dean’s meter starts to whine and the smell of sulphur begins to waft through the wheelhouse. He looks sharply at Lily, mouths demon?

Lily shakes her head.

“You get that smell a lot?” Dean asks. 

“Fair bit, yeah,” replies Mark. “Why?”

“Something and nothing. So, where are the pots?” Dean packs away his EMF meter in his bag.

“Out on the sound. We’ve got a contract with five of the big hotels around here, as well as keeping some back for Market.” Skipper Jean looks Dean up and down. “Like I said before, you look strong enough for a days’ work.”

“I’ll have to give Lily a hand,” grins Mark. His voice is teasing, light and laden with innuendo. 

“I’ll help her,” replies Dean, definite edge to his voice. 

“Best it’s someone with experience,” cuts in Skipper Jean. “Mark, calm down. At least till we’ve got rid of the spook or whatever the hell this is.”

“Don’t worry about me, Skipper,” says Lily firmly. “I’m used to keeping up with the boys.”

“So many ways I can take that.” Mark winks.

“Are you this nice to all the girls?” Lily rolls her eyes.

“Only the ones that are breathing.”

“That’s reassuring,” mutters Dean.

***

Skipper Jean wasn’t lying. The pots are heavy, maybe just three or four lobsters or crabs in each, but when they weigh four or five pounds each and there’s twenty or thirty pots to pull in, pretty soon your body starts to scream.

When it’s done, Lily slumps down on the deck of the boat. Mark hands her a bottle of water. She gives a tired smile.

“Muscles you didn’t know you had killing you?” He says, sympathetically. “OK, Dean?”

Dean stretches his arms, nods. “What now?”

There’s a distant splash on the other side of the boat and Skipper Jean comes back around with a box full of bands. “Now we band their claws and send this lot back down. If they’re less than four pounds, throw them back.”

He looks at the exhausted Lily. “You can bait and throw back the pots. Bait’s behind you.” He points to a barrel full of tiny fish. She nods. “OK, boys. Let’s get to work.”

It’s not long before they get a rhythm going, until one of the bands that Dean is trying put on a particularly pissed off lobster throws itself out of Dean’s hands and lands in the middle of the deck. “Shit, that lobster’s in the wrong job. It should play for the Mets.”

He gets up to retrieve the band, just as Mark is doing the same, when the lobster grabs his balls. _“Fucking shit!_ Get it off me!”

Mark grabs it and tries to pull it off, while Lily tries not to laugh. 

“Watch it! “ Dean grits out. “That bastard’s my dinner tonight! “

“What, waste of good food otherwise? “ Lily’s struggling with the crustacean. It looks to Skipper Jean that she’s trying to force its claws open, while Dean snarls something about his balls. He goes behind the wheelhouse to look at something, when the bait barrel slides across the deck, knocking into him. 

“What the fuck? Skipper?” Mark drops the lobster and runs across the deck to the prone man. There’s a purple swelling on the Skipper’s forehead. 

“Watch his neck,” calls Dean as the lobster lets go and he comes over to the Skipper. “Mark, can you take us back to the harbour? He‘s going to have one hell of a concussion.”

“The catch! We’ve got orders to fill!” Mark protests.

“I don’t like the way he’s breathing,” points out Dean. “Throw the rest back.”

“We can’t lose those orders. You know how much these lobsters are worth?”

“Holy shit!” Lily’s staring at the lobsters’ banded claws snapping as they are lifted en masse and tossed back into the ocean. 

The crewmates look at each other for a moment, before Mark turns the _Anamaria_ around and gets to port as fast as he can.

***

Skipper Jean has a mild concussion and is kept in hospital overnight. Mark insists on taking the _Anamaria_ back out, re-lay the pots, lay the nets for the groundfish that they couldn‘t do earlier. They really can’t afford to lose the orders.

Other than the ever-present cold on the boat, nothing untoward happens. 

They work fast, wanting off the boat, but it’s still night before they get back to the hotel.

Mark pays for dinner for them, another excellent seafood platter, by way of thank you. They eat in silence, until he goes to the bar to get them another round.

The bar manager comes over to the table with a few messages for them and Lily’s cell begins to ring. Dean takes the messages while Lily takes the call. Mark gives her a brief glance as he comes back to the table. 

“What’re those?” He asks, eyeing the messages. 

“Her husband, trying to get in touch with her. We’ve been off the grid for hours.” Dean takes the beer, nods his thanks.

“Keep her on a tight leash, does he?” Mark takes a gulp of his beer. _“Anamaria’s_ a black spot for cell phones.”

“No,” Dean says, coldly. “My brother’s just worried about us.”

“Oh, thank God.” Sam’s voice is heavy with relief. 

“We’re fine. We’ve just been out on the boat all day. It’s crap for coverage. How’s Jelly?”

“She’s missing her Mommy, but she’s fine.” The gentleness has returned to Sam’s voice. “I’d put her on, but she’s asleep. She was up all last night, looking for you.”

“Don’t know how,” Lily snaps. “She’s not around me enough to miss me. You’ve always got her.”

Sam ignores this. “Think you’ll be back for the eighteenth?”

Lily calms down. “Don’t know. Way things are going we’re not going to have a chance to research the boat’s past -”

“I told you the boat’s past,” Mark cuts in. 

“Not enough to work with,” says Dean, shaking his head. “We have to work out if it’s a spirit or a curse and how they got there, before we can get rid of them.”

“I thought you could just say a magic spell or wave some holy water over the boat.” Mark’s face is unreadable. He drinks more of his beer.

“Vous etes Quebecois?” Dean asks. 

“Oui,” Mark replies, confused. Then it dawns on him. “We’ve already had a couple of priests in to bless the boat. I mean, I don’t believe in bell, book and candle, but it was supposed to set the rep of the boat straight and it didn’t.”

“From what you’ve told us, it’s a curse or ghost and we need to work out which,” Dean says as he picks up his fork and begins to idly draw patterns in the sauce. “Our hands are tied until we know that. It could be the ghosts of the original owners or a curse because the name was changed. Lily? Got a theory?”

Sam’s heard the exchange. “My money is on a curse. Pass the phone to Dean and knock your drink over while you do it.”

Lily’s mystified, but does it anyway, sending her full bottle over Dean. “Jesus Christ!”

“Sorry! Mark, could you get napkins over here please?” She’s trying to dab at Dean with her dinner napkin, while Mark goes to the bar for more. Dean grabs the phone from her. “Bastard.”

Sam laughs. “He doesn’t seem to want you to find out what’s happening, does he?”

“Great minds think alike,” replies Dean.

“I think he’s just been too busy for investigations,” Lily disagrees. “No one else is going to work on the boat.”

“Fine. Ask him if you can go over the boat again, but he can’t be there.” There’s a cry in the background. “I have to get that. Call me back later.”

Mark comes back with the napkins and hands them to Dean. “We really have to work out what’s the matter with the _Anamaria._ Any chance we could get on it tonight? Just me and Lily, because sometimes the people it’s happening around cloud the readings.”

“I thought you got nothing but readings,” said Mark.

“All they did was tell us that it’s definitely something spooky,” replies Lily. “We need more than that.”

Mark seems distinctly uncomfortable about this. “I’d have to ask Skipper Jean when he gets out of hospital tomorrow. He’ll probably say no, I mean our equipments’ worth thousands. Even if it never works.”

“Fair enough.” Dean drains his beer. “I’m going to bed. This gig’s a killer.”

He stands for a moment, waiting pointedly on Lily. “Oh all right. I’m coming!”

***

“Do we have to do this tonight?” Groans Lily. “My arms feel like they’re falling off!”

“Sorry. No can do.” Dean’s leafing through the file that Skipper Jean had given them.

“What’s in that?” Lily asks, coming over to sit on Dean’s bed.

“Nothing useful.” He shoves a block of pages towards her. “It’s just lists of repairs and malfunctions on various bits of the boat. Engines, steering, electronics.”

“I can’t see any patterns or dates or anything.” Lily grimaces as she pushes herself to sit up on the headboard. Dean plumps a pillow behind her back. “Thanks.”

Lily’s cell rings again. They look at each other briefly before Dean groans, reaches over to the nightstand and answers the phone. “Hi, Sam. You were right.”

Dean is silent as he listens to Sam. “We’re going in a minute.” More listening, a quick look at Lily. “Yeah, OK. You do that.”

“Do what?” She asks.

“Nothing, you see if you can work your half of the log to the different owners, see if there’s any escalations around certain dates or people.” There’s another pause as Dean listens to something Sam says. “OK, bye.”

It doesn’t take them long to sort out the records by owner. “Not much difference in the piles,” says Lily.

“I don’t know.” Dean kneels on the floor, peering at the piles on his eye level. “I’d say the first pile’s the smallest.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” groans Lily. “Sort it out by year when we get back.”

***

They climb down the fire escape to get to the harbour. It’s fairly easy for them to clamber aboard the _Anamaria,_ it’s late and the town is quiet. 

“No torches,” says Dean. “We can be seen here.”

“Every one’s spooked by the boat. No one’s going to come near.” Lily has her EMF meter out and is running it around the wheelhouse. “I’m not getting anything.”

“We ask to go on the boat without Mark and then the next day, he gets reports of lights on his boat.” Dean crouches down, moving a piece of apparatus. “He gets a chance to hide the bodies. That’s a ward, isn’t it?”

Lily looks at the symbol Dean‘s found. “Not quite. That line should be over here. It looks to me like it’s keeping something in. Keeping a lid on whatever‘s here.”

“You think? Why the hell would they want to keep their boat haunted?” Dean pulls out his phone. “I’ve got a bar over here, but nothing when I move it six inches away.”

“You really don’t trust Mark, do you?” 

“No.” Dean stands up. “I want to check the engine room.”

“What have you got against him?” Asks Lily, getting her lock picks out.

“Just a feeling.”

“I’m not feeling it,” Lily says as she works the first pin round.

“Maybe you should think with your upstairs brain.” Dean regrets it as soon as he’s said it.

She’s got the second pin round. “You’ve lost me.”

“Honestly?” He says as she looks at him. “It’s clouding your judgment.”

“He’s just flirting with me. It’s nice to get some attention. C’mon, you heard Skipper Jean. Mark flirts with anything that’s got tits.” Lily’s got the third pin done. “There’s only one more.”

“Forget it,” says Dean. “We got a job to do.”

“No, you’ve said it now.” The lock clicks. “We’re in.”

Dean looks at the engine. “Looks fine to me,” he says after maybe ten minutes. 

“I’ll take your word for it. What did you mean, I should think with my upstairs brain?”

Dean’s about to answer, when they hear footsteps. He puts his finger to his lips. Lily nods, looking fearfully at the door. 

The engine starts and they can feel the bumps as the ropes are thrown aboard, before the boat turns round and chugs out to sea.

“Poker?” Dean pulls out a pack of cards.

“Texas Hold ‘Em?” She grins. “You are _so_ fucked.”

***

“How much do I owe you now? “ Asks Dean, when the engine chugs to a stop.

“We’re farther out than we were earlier,” says Lily, moving her position to ease the pain in her bum leg. “Fuck, it’s killing me. I can’t take my pills either, left them in the hotel.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Mark curses, in French and loud through the ceiling. 

Dean and Lily tense, staring at the door. They can hear him walking across to it, then… 

Nothing.

Not the sound of the key in the lock, nor the turning of the handle. Mark swears again and there’s a small whine from the EMF meter.

“What’s the matter?” Skipper Jean’s voice is muffled through the door.

“Door won’t fucking shift. It’s just jammed right in again.” Mark’s voice sounds strained, like he’s pulling on something.

“Deal with it later. We’re where we need to be anyway.” There’s the sound of another boat coming up alongside, shouting and footsteps. Voices sound in a foreign language that neither Lily nor Dean recognises. 

There’s a loud thud above their heads, making them jump, followed by a scraping sound. There’s more low conversation in the other language, when the cards in front of them spread out. The meter begins to whine loud and constant, Dean shoving a jack in the socket to shut it up.

“Dean,” says Lily softly, clutching his arm. In the darkness to the side of the engine, an orb shines dull at first, slowly getting brighter. It forms the outline of a young man, clothes vague and amorphous, only the head and shoulders are clear. His mouth gapes wide in a silent scream, eyes and tongue bulging out as he scrabbles at his neck, face purple.

“He’s choking…” whispers Dean, horror-struck. “Jesus, what’s wrong with his hands?”

The lights on the EMF meter stay lit, all of them.

“He’s missing some of his fingers,” mutters Lily. “They’re bleeding…”

One of the apparition’s hands comes away from his neck and points at a spot in the wall behind Dean. They turn and look, but there’s nothing there, but another of the symbols.

He’s gone when they turn back.

The noises above have gone quiet and they can’t hear the other boat any more. The EMF has gone down to one light as the engine starts back up. “Fucking thing,” they hear Skipper Jean say.

“Those exorcists you hired wanted on the boat tonight,” says Mark. “Told them I’d have to ask you first.”

“Let them on tomorrow. We’ve got to get this shit sorted. I don’t fucking want to be here next time if the Coast Guard show up.”

“We were lucky they fell for that shit last time.” Mark replies. “They’re not going to fall for it again.”

_Smuggling?_ Lily mouths to Dean.

_Sounds like,_ Dean mouths back.

***

They wait fifteen minutes before leaving the _Anamaria_. Dean has to support Lily on the walk back to the hotel, her leg has given out. He eases her down on to her bed, before looking in her bag for her painkillers. He passes her a drink and the tablets.

“What do you think they’re smuggling?” Dean says eventually.

“Drugs, probably. I don’t think there’s room on that boat for people.” She pushes herself painfully up the bed.

“We went further out on the boat, about two and half hours would you say?” Dean’s spread a map of the coast out her bed. “Put us about there.” he points to a place on the map.

“That’s disputed territory between Canada and the US,” Lily says as she glances down. “Smart. They get caught, no one can decide where to try them and no one wants to force the jurisdiction case, so they get away with it.”

Lily yawns. “Dean, I’m shattered. Can we worry about all this in the morning?”

“Sure,” he replies, gently. He takes her boots and she crawls under the covers. She’s out like a light in under a minute, knocked out by fatigue and Motrin. He gets out his cell, speed-dialling home. “Hi, Ricky. You not sleeping? Yeah, you cuddle the Bump. Is Momma awake? Put her on, Champ and you can tell me all about helping Sam put the handles back on the units in a minute.”

***

They get the phone call at 7 am. It doesn’t wake Lily, but it does wake Dean.

“Hi, Dean. The engine’s crapped out on us again, so if you want to do anything on the boat today, you’re welcome. I’ve already spoke to Skipper about it and he’s cool.” There’s a pause. “How’s Lily?”

“Asleep. I’ll let her know. How is Skipper Jean?”

“Sore head and a brace on his neck, but he’ll be around.” Mark replies, guilelessly. “He called me an hour ago demanding I get him from the hospital.”

“OK, see you around ten-ish.” Dean hangs up. He runs a hand through his hair, before picking up the piles they’d made last night with the log. He begins sorting them into further piles by year. 

There’s nothing much in the first seven years. It’s the next five years that’s interesting.

***

“You want to do a what?” Asks Lily, on the quayside. She’s walking with a stick and yawning her head off.

“Séance,” Dean repeats. “I can’t think of another way of finding out if it’s a ghost or a curse.”

“Fine, gimme a Sharpie and I’ll do a Ouija board on the deck,” says Lily. “Is it just us, or do you want us to wait until you’ve picked up the Skipper?”

“Nah, you do what you have to do. I’ll bring Skipper around later.” Marks hands them a brown bag and a flask. “Lunch, just in case you run over.”

They thank him and watch Mark go to his car. They wait till he’s gone before climbing aboard the _Anamaria_. Dean pulls a Sharpie out his bag and writes the letters of the alphabet, zero to ten, yes and no upon the deck. 

“He’s left us the keys. Turn the engine on, just to satisfy my curiosity,” Lily says as she gingerly manoeuvres herself to the wooden boards. “I haven’t got a planchette. You got a glass?”

“Liberated one last night. In my bag.” Dean’s unlocked the wheelhouse and turned the key in the ignition. There’s a small splutter as the engine comes to life. “It must like us.”

Lily puts the beer glass down on the deck. “You or me?”

“You, you’re the psychic.” Dean walks behind her to the barrels of bait at the rear of the ship. He crouches down as he looks at them, tapping up and down their length. “There’s flakes of rust and paint on the deck.”

“So there is,” she replies, turning to look. “It didn’t sound like it was filled with bait, did it?”

“You hold it,” says Dean, taking the top of the barrel in his hands. Lily holds on to the bottom. “Got it,” she says.

Dean twists the top, straining at first, before the top starts to slide, then come free with a jerk. The barrel has come away at its top third. Between them they lower it down to the deck.

“Fuck,” says Dean. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“That’s a lotta fucking lobster,” says Lily. “But what’s it doing here?”

Dean puts his hand in and picks one up. “Claws aren’t bound. Give me your stick.”

Lily passes it to him. “Maybe they don’t want them atrophying. Wiki says they do that if they’ve been bound for a bit.”

Dean pushes lobsters out the way, before hitting on something wrapped in black plastic. He pulls it out, bending it. It’s pliable, but with defined edges. “About the size of a wad of bank notes, yeah?”

Lily feels around the package. “Yeah. That’s a hell of a lot of cash. There‘s two other barrels. Think there‘s anything in there?”

Dean looks on the deck for tell-tale flakes. “No.” He throws the package back and together they seal the barrel back up. He gestures towards the makeshift Ouija board. 

“You do it,” says Lily, pushing the glass towards him. “I could muddy the waters.”

“You’re not a medium, so that’s not going to happen. You’re not channelling, just focusing.” Dean pushes the glass back towards her.

“You focus,” she says, pushing the glass back at him.

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Dean, taking the glass and placing it in the middle of the writing. “I always feel stupid doing this shit. Anybody there?

_“Fuck off, I’m having a dump,”_ Lily falsettos. 

Dean shoots her a dirty look. “Are you a ghost?”

The glass doesn’t move. “Must be a curse then.”

The glass slides across to No.

“That’s not me,” Dean says quickly. “No, you’re not a curse, or No, you’re a ghost?”

_R-I-N-G._

“Your ring? A smuggling ring?” Asked Lily

“Too many questions!” Snaps Dean. “Your ring?”

Yes.

“What about it?”

_L-S-T-I-T._ There’s a pause. _F-I-N-I-T._ The glass shoots along and hits Lily’s wedding ring.

“You lost your wedding ring?” Asks Dean.

_Yes. S-T-L-D-I-T_

They look at each other, confused. “Someone stole his ring?” Ventures Lily.

Yes.

“On this boat?” Asks Dean.

The glass stays on _Yes._

“Who are you?” Lily tries. The glass slides back to _R-I_ before stopping.

“Hello?”

It doesn’t move.

***

“So you think all this shit’s been caused by a ghost looking for his wedding ring?” Asks Mark. “I can’t believe that. It’s too simple.”

“It was maybe the last thing on his mind as he died and he’s become fixated on as times’ worn on. He might not even know that he’s dead.” Dean sips his coffee.

“Having said that, when I saw the ghost when David fell in the harbour, it was scrabbling about in the bait barrels.” Skipper Jean looks thoughtful. “So maybe if we find the ring, we get shut of this ghost?”

“It’s more common than you’d think,” replies Dean. “Maybe you should rip the boat up and see if you can find it.”

Skipper Jean shakes his head. “I can’t afford the boat out of action for that long.”

“She’s not exactly doing much right now,” points out Lily.

“I’m going to try her again in a minute. Thanks for looking at the engine, by the way.” Skipper Jean gets up painfully and tries the engine again. It chugs to life. “Hey, we’re in business!”

“Wouldn’t hurt to look behind the barrels,” says Dean.

“Later,” replies Skipper Jean. “We’re behind.”

***

They’ve got a brief moment alone as Mark goes to discuss something with Skipper Jean. 

“I think we should just leave,” Lily says, as they walk back to the hotel. “If the Feds or DEA are on to them and come for them while we’re here, you’re fucked. Hendrickson’s not going to give a shit about disputed territory.”

“I know that. But we owe that ghost, if nothing else. If I end up like that, I’d hope someone would put me out my misery.” Dean sighs. “But you‘re right, we can‘t take the risk. If we haven‘t done it by tomorrow night, we‘re gone.”

They separate when they hear Mark come up behind them. “Everything ok?” He asks warily. “Lily?”

“I’ve been thinking, ’bout your ghost,” Lily says, tightly. “I could rig up something to hold it, but it won’t work forever.”

“Or,” cuts in Dean, “we could find out that he is, set him to rest that way.” 

“Well, everything’s in the log we gave you. Try it tomorrow.” He pauses. “You sure everything’s alright?”

“Fine,” Lily says, shortly. “I guess I’m just missing my baby.”

“Sooner this is over, sooner you get home,” Mark agrees, sympathetically. He pats her shoulder, before he drops that hand to the small of her back. “Pity though, I’ll miss you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll recover,” she jokes back and it’s taking some effort to keep her voice light. It doesn’t help that Lily gives a small, but visible shiver.

Mark doesn’t take his hand away as he steers her towards the bar. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a beer. Or something stronger.”

Dean walks with Skipper Jean to what seems to have become their usual table. “Aw, dammit. Someone else got there first.”

Skipper Jean looks at the papers strewn over the table. “Isn’t that the log book we gave you?”

Dean leafs through them. “Yeah, it is.” He grins as he recognises the handwriting that’s looping around edges of the paper, looking around.

“How’d it get here?” Asks the Skipper. “Go check your room, Mark can go with you. Lily’ll be fine down here.”

“It’s not Lily I’m worried about,” says Dean as Sam comes out the men’s room. He sees his brother and waves. Sam holds up his hand, _Five?_ Then points to the bar. 

“The husband? Not the first time he’s ran into one those,” Skipper Jean snorts. “Least we got a clear shot of the bar from here.”

“Four beers,” says Mark at the bar. He’s still got his hand in the small of Lily’s back.

“Make that five beers and then get your hands off my wife.” Sam’s voice cuts through Lily’s discomfort. It’s tight and low, husky with barely controlled fury. He’s right up in Mark’s space. Mark takes a few steps back.

_“Sam?”_ Lily gasps, somewhere between bewildered and pleased as she steps around Mark. “Jessica’s OK?”

“She’s fine,” he replies, barely looking at her as he reaches over, putting an arm around Lily’s shoulders and yanking her to him. She actually stumbles a little with the force of it. “Your friend can get the drinks. Let’s sit down and you can get me up to speed on the case.”

“Aw, balls,” says Skipper Jean. “I was hoping they’d fight. It’d give me something to laugh my ass off tomorrow.”

“That happen a lot?” Asks Dean.

“Enough. It would have been even funnier because he’s not done anything for once. Karma for all the times he’s never been caught.” Skipper Jean is trying to catch what Sam’s written while he’s been waiting. “Your brother’s keen. Post-its as well as a note book?”

“I’m very thorough,” Sam says as he sits down. He shakes hands with Skipper Jean, pulling Lily to sit down between his spread legs. Lily elbows him sharply, trying to use the drinks coming as an excuse to move. Sam _oomphs_ , but keeps an arm tight around her waist, playing with her hair or biting her ear, making it clear to Mark who the boss is.

Dean changes seats so that he’s between Mark and Sam.

Skipper Jean doesn’t even bother to hide his laughter. Mark tries to keep out of Sam’s line of fire.

They discuss theories and actions for a few hours. Every so often, Lily kicks Sam.

***

“I’m going to see about getting another room,” says Dean, getting his keys out. Sam’s gone for another round, dragging Lily with him to “help.”

“Don’t be stupid,” says Mark. “You can stay at mine. Sofa bed’s comfortable.”

“On you go, Dean. Keep wittle Marky safe from the big, nasty Man Beast.” The Skipper chuckles. He leans across and ruffles Mark’s hair.

“Fuck off,” says Mark, swatting away the hand. “Have you not seen the size of it?”

“Well, don’t go sniffing around married women,” Dean grins. “I’ll just go get some stuff.” 

“Where’s Dean?” Asks Sam when he gets back. He’s only got three drinks with him. 

“Gone to get some stuff. He’s staying with me tonight,” says Mark nervously.

“Fine,” says Sam, shortly. He puts down the drinks. “Tell him I said bye.” 

He scoops Lily over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, ignoring Lily swearing at him. Dean passes him on the stairs. “Have fun kids!”

“Fuck off!” Snaps Lily as Sam disappears round the corner with her.

*** 

Sam kicks the door closed, throwing Lily on the bed. 

“What the _fuck_ , Sam? Are you possessed?” She snarls, trying to sit up. Sam kneels on the bed and pushes her back down, straddling her hips. He says nothing for a moment, just looking at her with that dark, angry look he’d had when he’d first seen Mark with his hands on her.

“Where’d he touch you?” He demands, voice low, dangerous. He leans over her, one hand playing along the exposed skin where her top has ridden up, the other tangled in her hair. He starts mouthing her throat, working up to her mouth, sliding his tongue past her lips, going straight to the spots he knows are most sensitive.

Lily can’t help it. Sam’s tongue and fingers are dragging responses from her, searing along her skin. Her arms wrap around Sam’s back, locking so tight she’s raised off the bed as she returns the kiss. The feel of his body around her, against her after so long? There’s no way she could deny it. It’s driving her crazy and she wishes he wasn’t, wasn’t causing these desperate little _hnnns_ in her throat

Sam kisses her harder, before breaking it off with some effort. He rests his forehead against hers, licking her lips. “Sam?” Lily whispers.

“Turn around,” he replies. “And it’s Sammy. When we’re like this. Turn around.”

“Where’d you get off telling me what to do? You’ve ignored me for months and _oh!”_

Sam flips her over easily, huge hands on her hips and ass, circling his thumbs over skin and denim. Lily tries to push up again, but she stops when Sam slides his hands up her skin, taking her top with them, over her head. “Where’d he touch you?” 

“Jesus, Sam!” Lily gasps as Sam runs his palms down her arms, her shoulders, down to the small of her back. She arches into him as Sam starts to slowly lick the dip of her spine, swirling his tongue where he’d seen Mark’s hand rest. Lily can feel Sam’s tongue burning its way across to her hip. It’s all connecting up the weight of his hands on her skin, stroking her sides. She can feel herself start quivering and tries to clamp down on it

Sam smiles against her back as Lily tries to stop shivering. “Stop trying to fight it. Where else? Here?” 

“I’m angry, goddammit! Where do you get off - _Oh, God, Sam!”_ Sam’s slid up her body, lying along her back. He’s lost his shirt at some point and she can feel every ridge and dip of his muscles against her skin, smell his aftershave as he brushes the hair from her nape. He starts to lick there, where Lily’s hypersensitive and he knows that, the _bastard._ Long, smooth sweeps of his tongue, like he’s licking an ice cream. It sears out over her skin in wildfire waves, shorting out her vision and making her blood sing loud in her ears. 

Sam grinds his denim bound hips against her ass, dropping his full weight on her body, pinning her down so she can only breathe in short, shallow pants. It would make her light headed and dizzy if she wasn’t already there from the feel of his muscles moving under his skin. He sucks on her earlobe, gently pulling on the earring with his teeth, before saying in that low, furious, sex-laden tone, “I could go down there and kick the shit outta your boyfriend or I could fuck you through the mattress. Take your pick.”

_“My what?”_ That breaks through. Lily twists to face him, as much as she can from that angle. “I wouldn’t touch him with a barge pole with shit on the end!”

Sam turns her in his arms, one hand wrapping itself around both wrists and pinning them above her head. It makes her arch against him. The other drops between them, unpopping buttons and zippers, pushing jeans and underwear down their legs until Sam’s able to draw them off with his feet. He doesn’t say anything when his hand slips back between her legs, heel on her clit and two long fingers in her pussy, deep inside. One leg’s draped over both of hers, holding Lily down.

Sam’s the only thing her hyperaware senses can see, hear, touch. The slick of skin between them, the weight of his body along hers, the way she’s totally surrounded by him. There’s a dark, almost cruel look on his face as he watches Lily’s reaction when his hand starts to move.

Slowly, at first, pressing hard against her, inside her and it’s instant. Her back arches off the bed and the way he’s got her tethered just _heightens_ everything, like it’s safe for her to lose it so hard. Sam moves his hand faster, hitting that spot deep inside her and Lily can feel it building, waves beginning in her cunt and starting to sweep out along her body. She writhes in Sam’s grasp, driven out of her senses as Sam overwhelms her with every kink he can hit.

He leans close to her ear again and she can just about hear him over her ragged breathing and the blood pounding in her ears, that low, dangerous tone. “There’s nothing in Heaven or Hell that’s gonna take you away from me,” he growls. 

Lily wants to laugh, make a joke of it, but she’s too far gone, can only whisper, _“Sammy….”_

“Always,” Sam growls and fingers her harder, forcing her to meet his eyes, dark and intense as they breathe the air from each other’s lungs, their lips are so close. Lily falls apart under his hands, his mouth, his body, a tidal wave driving every sense before it. She can’t hear, she can’t see, just feel it flooding out from her clit, her cunt as she blacks out. 

Lily comes to her senses a few minutes later to find Sam’s let go her wrists and is stroking her hair. She’s still high from coming and laughs as she painfully wraps her arms around Sam, running her palms along the muscles of his back. Sam grins in reply, moving between her legs and she locks them behind his waist, crossing her ankles on his ass. He drops his head and kisses her, hard, but slowly, making sure he hits every sensitive spot with his tongue or his lips. 

He pulls back slightly, sucking her lower lip to fullness, so the flesh feels too big for the skin. Lily catches his lip and bites, hard, leaving marks. Sam yelps, before scooping her up in his arms and sitting back on his heels. From the way she’s got her legs, Lily’s got no purchase and Sam exploits that as he slides her down his dick. She gasps as she feels herself stretch around him, then laughs, deep and throaty and happy, throwing her head back.

Lily tightens her legs around Sam as he starts to move, thrusting up hard, fast into her, the way she likes. One of his hands tangles in her hair, holding her in place as he kisses her as hard as he’s fucking her. His pubic bone grinds against her over-stimulated clit, never mind the feel of his chest and stomach against hers. A glance up at his face shows he’s not far behind her. 

“When was the last time we fucked like this?” Sam grits out between jackhammer thrusts. “I’ve missed this.”

“Too fucking long,” Lily somehow manages to reply, everything’s on its way to shorting out again. “Sammy, just shut up and fuck me through the mattress. _Please!”_

Sam laughs and gets on with doing just that. Lily wonders dimly if they’ll have noise complaints at breakfast.

***

Mark’s apartment is a comfortable, homey affair, old furniture and old photos on the walls. Dean glances at some when Mark hands him a coffee in a chipped mug. “Oh, the best china.”

“Maid’s day off,” smiles Mark.

“Can’t get the staff these days,” agrees Dean. “You in any of these?”

Mark points to one photo with a child of around twelve and another with him taken a few years previously. “’S’me,” he says, sipping his coffee, waving his hand in the direction of the pictures. They’re group pictures, with the crews of the boats. It’s hard for Dean to see in the dim light, but there’s something about both photos… 

“So you grew up fishing?”

“Yeah,” replies Mark. “This has been a fishing family for generations. Went out with my dad and my uncle when I was ten. Jesus, I‘ve been doing this for fifteen years.”

“Never wanted to do anything else?”

“Never. Course the pressure is on these days to make a decent living and sometimes we’ll go out come back with nothing. I hear the trawlers in the Atlantic have it bad, but it’s easier on the smaller boats.” Mark sits down, gestures for Dean to do the same.

“Guess that’s what happens when you’re hunting something. It doesn’t always show.”

“Speaking from experience?” Asks Mark.

“I guess,” replies Dean. “How long you been on the _Anamaria?”_

Mark thinks for a minute. “About six years. The log book would have told you that.”

“We’ve looked through it, but not in as much detail as we’d like,” says Dean. “Sam’s here, now he can go through it.”

“So, he’s not going to be on the boat?” Mark looks relieved. 

“Not unless you want to sleep with the fishes,” snorts Dean. “So, you’ve been with all three skippers?” 

“Yeah, like I say, started fishing with my Dad when the boat was _Joy’s Angel,_ all the way up in McKinley.” Mark stretches legs, getting comfortable. “Not from Dark Hollow. Where you from?”

“Originally? Lawrence, Kansas, but I haven’t lived there since I was four. I’d be a little more specific, but…” Dean trails off with a shrug.

“Hey it’s cool, we’ve all got our secrets.” Mark waves his coffee mug. “You want a refill?”

“Sure,” Dean says, handing him the mug. He looks at the photos again, while he waits. “Dammit, what am I missing?”

***

The sound of paper rustling wakes Lily up as Sam flicks from page to page of the log book and his own notes. “What’re you doing?”

“Hey, Petal,” he says as she sits up. His hand comes round the back of her head as they kiss, slow and easy, tongues slipping along each other. His other hand cups her face as Sam deepens the kiss.

“Ow!” Yelps Lily, as the pen in Sam’s right hand tangles in her hair. He chuckles and frees the pen. “You’ve got hair like Medusa.”

“It’s your fault. Answer the question.”

“I’ve got the incidents that Mark told you about, the father and sons dying on the boat, the blinded wife, and some other stuff.” Sam says as he holds the pages up to the light. He passes them to her. “See if you can see it.”

Lily stares at the pages for a long moment. “I’m not seeing it.”

“Look again.”

She does, looking at the various handwritten entries. Then it hits. “The writing’s slightly different. It’s the same person that wrote it, but it’s different. More…developed.”

“Like the person wrote the other entries, wrote that one too, but years later?” Offers Sam.

Lily nods. “Yeah. Dean’s thought all along that Mark was shitting us.”

“It’s not Mark’s name next to the entries. It’s Jean La Salle’s.”

***

“Hurry up! We should have cast off half an hour ago!” Calls Skipper Jean. 

Sam saunters out, grinning with his arm around Lily. He slaps her ass as she kisses him and clambers aboard the boat. She glares at him. “You are so fucking doomed, Winchester!”

“Good night?” Grins Dean, the note of concern in his voice all but hidden. “You two cool again?”

Sam gives his shy smile, all quick looks and head bobs. “We’re good. Anything I should see around here?”

“If I had to pick? Take a look at last night’s accommodation. It’s really old and interesting. Beautiful photos of the boats and stuff.” Dean turns as Mark calls to him.

“Watch yourself out there man,” Sam says. “Don’t believe everything you hear. Lily‘ll tell you.”

He gives Mark a black look as he walks off. “You sure he’s not gonna do anything?” Mark asks, nervously.

“Nah,” says Lily, casually. “Not until the job’s done.”

***

It’s still fairly early so the only people out are the fishing crews and most of them have already left, so no one notices Sam work open the lock of Mark’s door. 

Dean’s cup is still lying from the night before. He lifts it but there’s no secret messages for him. Sam turns on the light and goes to look at the pictures. 

And sees straightaway what Dean couldn’t. He pulls the log book out of his backpack, just to confirm what he suspects, pulls both photos from their frames carefully, and turns them over.

_Moi, Papa, Alain, Oncle Michel, avril 1994_

_Moi, Papa, Alain, Oncle Michel, aout 2002_

The logbook claims that in _mai 19 2002_ Marc and Alain Duchene were dragged overboard in the nets, with Michel Duchene hanging himself from the crane a month later.

***

“Michel Duchene?” Sam asks the man in his fifties at the door. “You used to own the _Joy’s Angel?”_

“Yeah, I did. Can I help you?”

“I’m Henry Jones, Sun Insurance. I’m investigating a claim in relation to the boat’s current owners. I’d just like to ask you few questions.” Sam holds up an ID.

“You’re lucky you caught me. I was just going to take some tourists out to see the dolphins in the Sound.” Mr Duchene shrugs and stands aside, letting Sam in. “Don’t know how much I can help you, son, I haven’t owned that boat in six years.”

“It’s really just to establish some facts, sir,” says Sam, taking out a notepad. “I won’t take up much of your time. How long did you own the _Joy’s Angel?”_

“Seven years. Boat started to need repairs for no real reason and it got more expensive to run.” Mr Duchene settles himself back in his chair, gestures to his coffee cup. 

Sam shakes his head. “I understand your crew was all family members?”

“Me, my brother and his two sons. Both boys had been coming out with us since they hit their teens.”

“That would be Alain and Marc?” Prompts Sam.

“That’s right,” says Mr Duchene, looking sad. “Alain - he was Jean’s older boy - got caught in the nets and dragged overboard. Marc jumped in after him, but couldn’t do anything. We nearly lost him too. Sea was so stormy that night. Atlantic storms in November, you see.”

Mr Duchene pauses and sighs. “Marc was never the same after that. He blamed himself. You couldn’t tell him that accidents happen.”

“It’s a dangerous job,” agrees Sam.

“You sound like you know. You from fishing stock yourself?” Asks the older man.

“Not in so many words,” says Sam. “So you sold the boat after that?”

“Didn’t have the heart to keep it going, so I sold the boat.” He can’t meet Sam’s eyes, too many painful memories. “Marc and Jean went crazy, saying it was the boat they’d fished with Alain on. Tried to buy it off me, but I wanted rid of it. Sold it on to a skipper in Dark Hollow.”

“Can I just clarify a few things, sir?” Asks Sam.

“Course, son,” replies Mr Duchene.

“So, while you owned the boat, there was only one, accidental fatality?” Sam’s pen is poised.

Mr Duchene nods. “My nephew, yes.”

“May I see a picture?” Sam asks carefully. Mr Duchene nods and takes down a photo from the wall, the same one as Mark has hanging in his living room.

“What happened to your surviving nephew and his father?”

“Marc went in search of the _Joy’s Angel_. Jean went after him. Couldn’t bear to lose his other son. I hear from them now and again. Up in Quebec City last I heard.” Mr Duchene turns and fumbles with a cigarette, hiding his glittering eyes.

Sam feels shitty asking the next question. “Your nephew? How was the body…?”

“He’d had his fingers torn off with the force of the nets. They never found them, but his body was buried in the old graveyard on Dexter. Why?”

“Just clearing some things up. I’ll let you get back to your tourists.”

***

Sam’s sitting in the Impala with a cup of coffee and his laptop, reading the headline of the local paper. It’s dated two years previously, describing the accident with the flare gun that blinded the skipper’s wife. It’s pretty much in accord with the log book entry.

Sam steels himself and knocks on her door. 

She comes to the door, light and quick. “Hang on. Let me get my glasses.” There’s the sound of a key in the lock and she opens the door. Sam can’t help it. “Jesus Christ…” he swallows. “I’m sorry.”

She’s brisk and to the point. “I’m used to it. Have your stare and then we can get down to business. What do you want?”

“I-I’m here about the _Anamaria._ I’m an insurance investigator…” His voice trails off.

“What’s Marc Duchene done now?” She turns and walks into the house. “Shut the door behind you.”

Sam follows her in. She gestures towards the sofa while she remains standing. “I hope you’re not falling for the shit they spin about that boat. _This_ was not done by a fucking ghost.” She waves a hand at her face. “It was Marc Duchene on the other end of the gun.”

“What exactly happened - I mean I’ve seen the log book, but I don’t believe it.” Sam still can’t stop staring at her melted cheeks. She reminds him of a Wendigo.

“Duchene the son had insisted all along that the boat was haunted. Only way to explain how the boat was in port half the time.” She snorts. “Haunted, my fucking ass. I was told to check the flares by the first mate -”

“Jean La Salle?” Sam offers.

“That was the name he was going by, but it’s really Duchene. I’m checking the gun and it fucking goes off in my hand. Couldn’t prove anything, but they were behind it.”

“Why would Mark or Jean try to kill you?” Asks Sam. “You were the skipper’s wife.”

“Because the boss’s wife was my cover. I was a DEA agent. We had a fucking file on them going back years, to when Jean La Salle‘s brother owned the boat.”

Sam’s blood runs cold. “Ma’am, are you still in contact with your colleagues? I need you to check something for me. _Please.”_

***

_“You’ve got Lily Scott’s voicemail. Leave a message at the sound of the beep.”_

“Jesus fuck! Lily, you and Dean have to get off that boat and away from La Salle and Rivers. _Right fucking now._ I’m on my way…Don’t know how...You’re in a fucking fishing port, College Boy…I’ll hire a boat…I think I know where you’re going…”

***

By random chance, the first boat Sam sees on the quayside is Michel Duchene’s boat. The tourists are taking photos and enthusing over the harbour. Sam doesn’t give a shit how picturesque it is as he races up to Mr Duchene’s boat. “I’ll give you $300 cash if you take me out to the disputed territory,” he pants. “Please!”

Mr Duchene looks doubtful, glancing at the tourists. “You got the money, son?”

Sam pulls the wad of notes out his pocket. Mr Duchene isn’t convinced.

“I know where you can find your brother and your nephew.” _Ha, you bastard, that got your attention._

“Get on the boat.”

***

“You guys nearly done with the baiting?” Skipper Jean calls from the wheelhouse.

“Nearly,” calls back Dean. “I’m just going to check the engine. Don‘t want it crapping out on us again.” 

Lily waits five minutes before following him down. “We’re going out to the same place we did the other night.”

“I know…Christ!”

“What?” Lily looks at the engine.

“The boat in those photos on Mark’s wall.” Dean slaps his hand over his face. “It was the Anamaria with a family group. He said he’d been under all three skippers. The skipper was his Uncle! God, I knew I was missing something.”

“So, it was his brother who was killed. Which means they’ve been telling us a crock of shit?” Asks Lily.

“Yeah. It was hard to see in the light but -”

“Skipper Jean’s my Dad?” Mark completes the sentence. He cocks the revolver he’s pointing at them and it’s loud and menacing in the small space, even over the engine.

Dean moves in front of Lily. “Mark, dude…put the gun down. It’s not like we’re going to call the cops. Like you said last night, we‘ve all got our secrets.”

“Oh, I think I can guess yours, _Special Agent.”_ He emphasizes the title with stabs of the gun. “Really think we’d fall for that shit? Fucking Ghostbusters? Well, who you gonna call?”

Lily moves slightly, blocked by Dean. “I’ll have shot you both before you’ve pulled the trigger, Lily. Drop the guns on the deck. Kick them over.”

She does as Skipper Jean appears on the stairs, holding a rifle. He tosses Mark some fishing cord, the kind used in the nets and the pots, covering them as the younger man ties them up.

“Can’t believe the shit you Feds expect us to swallow,” Skipper Jean says, comtemptuously. “Exorcists? That bitch undercover as the skipper’s woman was pretty good, maybe even the last guy coming on as a crew man, but Ghostbusters?”

“We‘ve had that discussion with your bastard.” Dean says. “Keep up.”

Mark punches him. Skipper Jean snorts and goes back into the wheelhouse.

“I wish people would stop doing that,” says Dean, conversationally. There’s blood running out his nose.

“Really? Shut the fuck up then,” says Mark, punching him again. Dean grimaces.

“I just wish the villains would get some new material,” Dean continues. He sounds bored. “Drug smugglers, demons all gotta have their grand exits. Can’t just fucking kill you and be done with it.”

Mark kicks him in the stomach and Dean groans. “You don’t fucking stop do you?”

“Neither…do…you…Haven’t…you…seen…Evil Overlord dot com?” 

Mark pulls the gun on Lily. She whimpers, terrified. “Another word and your partner gets it.”

_“OK! OK!”_ Dean looks wildly between the gun and Mark. “I’m sorry! Don’t…”

“She really _is_ your sister in law,” says Mark, as he gets it. “Least your boy here knows the meaning of family.”

“The accident with your brother. It wasn’t an accident.” Lily looks up at the wheelhouse door. “Does Daddy know? I bet he doesn’t.”

Mark smacks her across the face with the gun before she finishes, grabbing her by the throat. She struggles as he chokes her. “Keep your dicksucker shut or I have a little fun before dad and me sail off into the sunset.”

Lily gets her legs up and pushes Mark, sending him flying across the room, slipping her arms under her legs. Stiffly, but quickly she gets to her feet, throwing herself into Mark as he starts to get up. There’s a brief struggle that she loses, but not before she gets a few good licks.

“Fucking cunt. I warned you,” he snarls, eye and lip swelling. There‘s blood running down from his hairline. He kicks her in the stomach before pulling down his fly. He’s totally forgotten about Dean.

And the gun he dropped.

Dean shoots the symbol that the ghost had pointed to two nights previously. The bullet busts the top of the plank away. No one notices the simple gold wedding ring falling on to the deck.

The engine stops straight away. Skipper Jean comes running down the steps, but halts, transfixed by the orb that’s formed next to the ring. 

Father and son watch as it grows, becomes more solid, taking on the shape of a man. “Alain?” Whispers Skipper Jean, like he can’t believe it. There‘s so much wonder and love on his face, it‘s difficult to watch. “Mon fils? C‘est Papa! Regarde moi!” 

The ghost ignores him, simply begins tearing up the boat as he tries to pick up his wedding ring with his fingerless hand, choking as he does so. He doesn’t stop as the water begins to bubble in.

“Alain! S’il te plait! Parle moi!”

Somehow, Dean and Lily wriggle up the stairs to the wheelhouse. Before they kick the door shut, they see Mark turn to run up the stairs, hearing him hammer at the door. It doesn’t budge, despite the increasingly panicked tempo from the other side. 

It doesn’t take them long to untie each other and find the Life raft. Dean throws it into the choppy waters, jumping in after it as it inflates. The water’s freezing and he has to help Lily swim to it, but they make it. “Not my most graceful moment,“ she stutters as Dean pushes her into the orange tent. 

They watch the _Anamaria_ go down, still hearing the frantic hammering and screaming from the engine room. 

“If we had ships’ rations,” says Dean, as they huddle together. “We’d have dinner and a show.”

***

Sam and Mr Duchene find them like that four hours later. Dean and Lily are soaking, dehydrated and borderline hypothermic, but alive. Sam tries to fend off the older man’s grief-stricken interrogation of his family, tries to feel guilty that he doesn’t give a shit about Mark and Skipper Jean, knowing the agony off the loss Mr Duchene’s suffering.

But he can’t, not when he came so close to losing his own. 

He wonders if it means anything more than it should.

***

The Impala rolls up outside the Winchester cabin back in Duke’s Pass. Sam helps Lily out the car, picking her up and carrying her in. 

“Daddy!” Yells Ricky, launching himself into his father’s arms. Dean hugs him tight. “Did you get the boat ghost?”

“We got it. Shall we watch a movie?” Grins Dean.

“Monsters Inc!” Squeals Ricky. 

“Well, go find Duncan and get him to put it on while I go see Momma.” 

Ricky skips off to find Sam’s stepson. “Duncan! I wanna watch Sully!”

Sam’s settled Lily on the sofa and brought Jessica to her. The baby lies there looking at her hands as her mother strokes her face, while her brother and cousin argue over the remote control for the DVD player.

“This film going on any time soon?” Asks Faith, sitting down and putting her feet up on the other couch. “Dean? This popcorn appearing before I give birth?”

Sam looks at the scene from the kitchen door. “Thanks, Dean,” he says quietly.

“Don’t mention it,” says Dean as he watches the popcorn jump about the microwave.

“You know, I thought I understood Dad when Jessica was murdered.” Sam’s still looking at the family scene. “But I didn’t know shit -”

“Till you had your daughter?” Dean finishes the sentence. “Get the syrup. It‘s totally different when you got kids. There’s this weird bond and everything‘s deeper.”

“I think I get now why he never remarried.” Sam gets bowls for the popcorn. “If anything happens to Faith, will you…”

Dean shakes his head. “No. She’s it for me. I don’t want someone else bringing up our kids.”

Sam nods. “Yeah.”

“Don’t tell me, tell your woman,” says Dean, shoving Sam and the bowls into the living room. “She’s the one who needs to hear it.”

Sam laughs and goes to sit with his family, sharing the bowls out. Dean winks and balances the popcorn on Faith’s stomach.


End file.
